We’re flying too high, Icarus! Goodness me. Goddamn neuroscientists all controlling the dreams of mice. Let them step into the dank dark dungeons of my subconscious. I shall deep fry their particles with scatological behavior and vomit play! All while pitching for the Neo-Mars Thunderbars.

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One day some brilliant biophysicist was hanging out at the New England Aquarium when he thought something I would have never dreamed. Dude said to himself, “I can build a jellyfish”, whereas usually I’m like “man…the fish, they like, swim. Really well.”

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Martin Scorsese is no stranger to gangster films populated by many dishonorable characters in seedy locations, scurrying around in the dark, power-playing for any (and all) loose change and on the even looser morality of their depraved circles. Starting with 1973’s Mean Streets and later reworking the turf in the 1990s with Goodfellas and Casino, Scorsese’s examinations into the gangster lifestyle have no doubt been artistically fruitful for him, as he has been better able–or, perhaps more appropriately, more willing–to show the brutal realities perpetuated by members of the underworld. And yet, in this place of double crosses and deceptions (all for the intention of looking out for number one), as outlandish as it seems, a certain code of “noble” behavior becomes hopelessly entangled in the proceedings: that, at the very least, disreputable people ought to have the common decency to live up to that reliable classification and not turn out to be backstabbers–rats–working against fellow low lives. It’s a fascinating quandary, both absurd and unsettling to behold, and it’s one that Scorsese brings to the forefront in his (only) Oscar-winning film The Departed.

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